Page 19 of Shut Up and Drive

The waitress comes to our table, fills our coffee cups, and takes our order. I grab my mug and hold it between my hands until it permeates warmth to my bones. I take a small sip, and it eases the anxiety in my stomach. I have been in survival mode since Philadelphia, and the knot in my shoulder is proof of it.

“So,” Thane says from across the table, “how are we going to sift through our dumpster fire and be civilto each other? Our moms are counting on us to play nice by the time we get there.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think that we can patch everything up that easily. There areyearsof baggage to go through.”

“Maybe. But the longer we put it off, the longer it will take,” Thane says with a shrug. “I know we can’t do it all before we arrive tonight, but we ought to start.”

“At the very least, we need to be able to fake it in front of our parents well enough that they’ll get off our backs.”

Thane rubs the back of his neck and refuses to make eye contact. “Yeah, I guess that would work too.”

“That bothers you. Why?”

He sighs. “You know what? It’s fine. Whatever will make this easier for you, we’ll do. I know that you were kind of bombarded with a lot all at once.”

I mull over the words that float from his mouth to my ears for a moment before responding.

“I think that’s our best way forward. At least for now,” I reply, but something inside me longs to face this head-on. Tofinallyheal. I do what I’ve done for years, and ignore it.

He looks up from the straw paper he’s been twisting and nods in surrender. I study his face for a moment. The weight of something etches in the crease of his brow, and guilt sits down on my shoulders. I open my mouth to speak?—

“One hash brown bowl, one two-egg breakfast, and a glass of milk,” the waitress says as she plunks our order onto the table. “No rush to leave, but I’m gonna give you your check now so I can empty my ticket book a bit. Also, cash is preferred because the card system can be glitchy during apower shortage. I’ll check back on ya in a minute.” She waits for our nods of approval, then pivots on her heels and heads back to the grill.

I’m not sure if I’m grateful for the distraction from the heaviness that sits in the booth with us, or not. It’s my turn to avoid eye contact as I eat my eggs, but Thane’s gaze burns into me. I hate that the person I used to feel unapologetically myself with makes me feel all uncomfortable. A civil war breaks out inside me between the “open up and let it all out” camp and the “do what keeps you safe and bury it” camp.

I know that whatever mending we need to do is going to hurt—a lot—but I’ve done enough hurting lately. Zero stars. Do not recommend. Will not do again. Ever. But the expectation to solve everything in such a limited amount of time presses down on me. My mom’s words about how I need to fix this circle my brain. My stomach swirls with confusion and anticipation of what’s coming, and I brace for the rug to be pulled out from underneath me again. The air in my lungs is heavy and unyielding, each breath fighting its way in and out. My heartbeat speeds up, and I know that if I can’t get my emotions under control, I’ll blow. I let out my hundredth exasperated sigh today.

That has got to be a record. But only Thane Donnelly can push me over my limits like that.

I have finally had enough of being in my own head. I slam my hand on the table.

“Fine! I can’t handle all this pressure! Say what you need to, but just get it over with!”

“Get what over with?”

“The agony! I can’t stand this… this…airbetween us!”

“Don’t you have things you’d like to get out in the open, too?”

His words hit me hard. Every tear I cried after he left had things I’d like to say attached. Every made-up argument I had with the shampoo bottle in the shower rushed back to me. I had repeated those words in my head for years, just in case I ever got the chance to say them to his face. And there I sat with my chance, right across the table from the boy who taught me how to love, and I couldn’t muster up the courage to utter one word. Tears burned the brims of my eyes, and I blinked manically to get rid of them.

Oh, Thane. If you only knew the things I’d like to say to you.

I inhale slowly, resetting my face to an indifferent expression. “That’s beside the point,” I say, gliding around his question like an Olympic ice skater.

“So, you do?”

My eyes shoot up to his. A flood of emotions rush to my throat, squeezing and fighting to pass each other in the small space. I swallow hard to force everything back to its proper hiding place, but I’m outnumbered and losing the battle quickly. The pressure valve for my heart begins to overflow and scream, transforming into words as the emotional steam escapes.

“Of course I do. But I don’t even know where to start. There’s all this pain and anger and frustration and…”don’t say love, don’t say love…“anger toward you!”

He smiles softly. “You said ‘anger’ twice.”

“Well, maybe I feel it twice,” I say forcefully.

“Okay. So we can deduce that you’re mad at me.”

“Great job, Sherlock,” I say sarcastically, swiping at my stupid tears.